


One Life With One Dream on Repeat

by Princess_Aleera



Series: The Mute!Cas Verse [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Cas!POV - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Musings from an angel, Pining, Prequel, Seasons 4 to 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/pseuds/Princess_Aleera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Where Castiel tells his story.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel to the Mute!Cas Verse, with events prior to The Beginning seen from Castiel's POV. It shows how this canon differs from the show's canon, so spoilers up to season 6 are to be expected.
> 
> I'm trying to post the final parts of this !verse so it's not a WIP anymore, although it's going slowly. I'm not really in the SPN fandom anymore, unfortunately, but this is my baby so I want it up and finished. Thanks so much for reading and leaving kudos/comments, I appreciate it immensely. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Mowgli's Road' by Marina and the Diamonds.

When Castiel thinks about it after, when the moments have all passed and he’s gotten everything in perspective, he doesn’t know where it started. Not that first spark. Maybe it was there even when he was an angel of the Lord; maybe he was merely too cut-off from his own – his vessel’s – feelings to notice. He has always loved Dean Winchester, in one way or another. Ever since he dove down into the deepest pit of Hell to retrieve that bruised and battered soul, a soul so twisted it was almost unrecognizable, apart from the small, but unharmed spark of humanity lodged deep within the swirls of darkness, hatred, anger and despair.

Castiel had cradled the soul, made a place for it between his wings, where it was protected from the flames of Hell as well as the scorching light of his own Grace. He returned the soul to its rightful vessel and breathed new life into the still, decomposed body. Mended tissue as well as soul tendrils, soothed the bright pulses with a flicker of his Grace when it resisted the urge to enter back into its body. In the end he had to keep it still, keep his palm against the bare skin of the Righteous Man and project his Grace through it, to keep the damaged soul calm. Castiel had whispered to it, in Enochian, words of love and protection. In that state, the soul took no damage from the ancient language, though the skin Castiel had touched, sizzled and grew scarred.

Castiel left the soul, and waited for Dean Winchester to come back to life. And from the moment he did, Castiel was by his side.

Uriel once said that Dean Winchester would be Castiel’s downfall. And as much as it angered him at the time, Castiel cannot help but take it as a compliment now.

He knows his fascination started early. Not for the human’s soul – that had always been there. But the moment when Castiel realized that he cared not only for the soul, for the Heavenly _purpose_ of this man, but for the man himself as well. When he started taking notice of Dean’s opinions, when he started favoring Dean’s orders instead of the Host’s. If Dean ever noticed, he did not let Castiel know.

The prospect of free will has always fascinated Castiel. Even in Heaven, when the human race was new to this world and had not yet spread across the entire globe, Castiel watched them with fascination from above. He accompanied his brother Gabriel a number of times when the Arch-Herald of God visited Earth, and watched the birth of Jesus Christ along with almost fifty other angels. Gabriel’s love for humanity was almost as strong as Lucifer’s hatred for it.

Castiel blamed the humans, for a while. When Lucifer was cast out by Michael, when Gabriel left Heaven, when Azael and Lirael followed in Lucifer’s footsteps and Balthazar followed in Gabriel’s, Castiel blamed the humans. It was petty, and not something Castiel thought he was capable of. But it was _easy_ , to blame an innocent, oblivious third part for what had torn apart his entire family.

It didn’t last, not even for a hundred years, but it scared Castiel nonetheless. He vowed to never again choose a path because it was easy, and not right.

In the end, Dean Winchester was Uriel’s downfall long before he was Castiel’s. Or maybe Castiel had already fallen from Grace, in a less than literal sense. He had long since started valuing Dean’s opinion over his superiors’. There were times when he felt like a traitor to his own kind – before he actually was considered one – and wondered if he would fall into the Pit like Lucifer once had. But that was the problem: he never once felt like a traitor.

And then he had found out that Dean Winchester was the Michael sword.

He was surprised at how much the knowledge disturbed him. He should have rejoiced – this was the reason Dean was special. The reason he was the Righteous Man, why his soul had been pulled out of Hell, why Castiel had met him in the first place. The knowledge that this man was his brother’s true vessel should have overjoyed him. Instead, he was saddened and frightened. Both emotions were new to him, and overwhelming in their intensity. He didn’t want Michael to speak to him through Dean’s mouth. When he stared into Dean’s green eyes, he wanted Dean to be the only one to stare back. Castiel knew through Jimmy how intense – damaging – living alongside an angel could be. If a mere seraphim, a foot soldier, could almost burn a soul out of its body, what then with an archangel?

It did not help that Sam Winchester, the single most important person in Dean’s life, was Lucifer’s true vessel. If Heaven had its way, Dean would kill Sam. Just the thought made Castiel feel vaguely ill.

But the Host had kept a closer eye on Castiel than the seraphim thought. And as it turned out, Hell was not the only realm that administered torture. Zachariah was merely a lot less imaginary about it. Castiel has never told the Winchesters what transpired in that white, small room – just like he has never told them that it was he who let Sam out of the panic room after he came back. They are both things he is ashamed of, though he knows that neither Sam nor Dean would think less of him for them. As it is, after everything is over and the outcome is known, Castiel is almost glad he had an important role in starting the Apocalypse. It makes him feel like a true part of what they called Team Free Will – complete with the guilt. Somehow, it felt like taking part of the blame lessened the boulder the Winchester brothers carried on their frail, human shoulders. Castiel had defied Heaven. He could carry more than Dean and Sam ever could.

Lucifer sprung free, thanks to Sam (and Castiel). And the conditioning Zachariah put him through, trying to force him back into Heaven’s ranks, unknowingly pushed Castiel farther away from the Host than ever. Dean Winchester was not only his commander, he was also his friend. Castiel knew he did once have friends in his brothers; Gabriel and Balthazar especially, before they both left Heaven (before they both left him behind). But a human’s loyalty and friendship was something new and exhilarating.

Even so, Castiel thinks the moment Dean started to trust him, _really_ trust him as a friend, not just an angel, was when Castiel died. It hurt, at the time. Not just the physicality of it – having your vessel explode and rip your Grace into pieces with it was extremely uncomfortable, and the second time Castiel had felt true agony. But it hurt that even after everything Castiel had done for this man, for this damaged soul, for the man Castiel refused to let be the Michael sword, Dean did not trust him until he was gone.

He thinks that was the last thing he thought before he was murdered. And as agonizing as the thought was, it was also something he wanted to make peace with. Castiel did die in peace, in a manner. And when he woke up again, he knew that his Father was still present – was still following the proceedings on Earth with somewhat of an interest.

For an unfathomable reason, God seemed to favor Castiel. It was a heady, and frightening, knowledge to carry.

In the years after, Castiel can admit – at least to himself – that whenever his fascination with Dean Winchester had begun, it blossomed into something stronger and deeper those few weeks where the two brothers were apart. Castiel kept an eye on Sam when he could spare the time – and when he could find him, seeing as the Enochian sigils on the brothers’ ribs shielded them from even his own senses. He searched for his Father and kept close to Dean whenever possible. When it wasn’t possible, he searched for additional reasons to stay with the Winchester. He watched Dean in his sleep, for no other reason than the wish to be a source of comfort. Often he could erase the nightmares from Dean’s mind with a brush of his Grace, or he could step into the dreams himself and change them. It pleased him, in a way Castiel could not explain, seeing the human sleep soundly without his memories plaguing him.

Dean came back from his brief meeting with Zachariah a changed man. It was subtle, and Castiel did not ask. Dean seemed unwilling to share the information the old, manipulative angel had shared with him. But he found Sam, which pleased Castiel. The angel knew, no matter what Dean had tried to tell him (with both his heart and mouth), that the Winchester brothers were safest and strongest when together. But he wanted to ask, sometimes. It was after the conversation with Zachariah that Dean had squeezed the shoulder of Castiel’s vessel and quietly asked him not to ever change. Castiel could not promise him anything, because he could already feel his bond with the Host weakening and his Grace straining with the effort it now took to fly or heal, but he had been pleased nonetheless. He had felt useful, irreplaceable, to Dean, which meant more than he could put into words.

Sam was… a bewildering human, in Castiel’s eyes. He was Lucifer’s true vessel, his soul tainted just like his body was. Where Dean’s soul was bright even in Hell, Sam’s soul was dimmed by his own choices, past, destiny and thoughts of self-worth. Neither Winchester felt they deserved to be saved, which Castiel found baffling, and yet they trudged on and on, trying to make the world better around them. Sam, who at first seemed like a good fit for Lucifer, changed throughout the year that Castiel spent with the two brothers. Where Lucifer embraces his own hatred, his opinion of everyone’s wrongdoings of him, and he channels all that rage and hatred and resentment into their Father’s newest creatures, Sam channels his resentment and anger inwards, and takes it out on himself rather than the people around him. Sam is of the opinion that everything he touches turns to ash, and yet he still does not shy away. Everything he breaks, he tries to fix within (and often outside) his own limitations.

He fascinates Castiel, in a different, but no less important, way than Dean. But in the year they spent stopping the Apocalypse they started, Castiel learned to respect Sam Winchester a great deal. Even consider him a dear friend.

Castiel felt his first pang of real sorrow when Joanna and Ellen Harvelle were killed in Missouri. He was incapacitated at the time, within that ring of Holy Fire, and it angered him that he could not help. He felt useless, in a way he had never done before, and as the year passed, he felt his Grace gradually ebb away from the absence of the Host around him. For every week that went by, the Apocalypse got closer, and he got weaker. With Joanna and Ellen gone and in Heaven, the number of Winchester allies had grown dangerously small. When they found Gabriel, Castiel let himself hope for a brief moment, but the Archangel had let them down. He would rather use the Winchesters as puppets in his petty little reality plays than help stop the rampage of his brother.

As it turned out, Castiel was proved wrong. It is something that still warms his heart, years later, how he got his big brother back. Even for just a day. He was not there when Lucifer murdered Gabriel, but he felt it in his entire being and screamed as it happened. It was the third time in his lifetime he felt pain, and the first time it was pain that was not his own. He still misses Gabriel with a fervency close to agony, at times.

As weak as he had been for the better part of a year, it was still a shock when Castiel woke up in that hospital unable to heal himself. His head was strangely, maddeningly quiet – not even the gentle throb of Dean in the back of his skull. Castiel was human, in most senses of the word, and he hated it. Only the thought that the world was ending kept him going. That, and the feeble hope that his Father – if he cared, which he most likely did not – would restore his powers if he proved himself worthy. After all, he had brought Castiel back from death. And this slow decline, this feeling of uselessness, tiredness, felt _worse_ than the excruciating pain of being ripped apart by the very seams of his being.

Sam said yes in Detroit. It was his own choice, in the end, like it had to be. Castiel said goodbye to him and Dean followed his brother, and Castiel prayed to an absent father that Sam would be strong enough to resist the Devil’s immense powers. He was not. And Dean, when he returned, was more hopeless than Castiel had seen him. Castiel had been ready to give up, if Dean had asked him to. Instead, Dean’s face had contorted into a mask of pain and anger, and he had told Bobby and Castiel of his last plan. Their last hope. _Sam’s_ last hope.

Lucifer killed Castiel. He was not surprised. Their entire mission had been a collective suicide from the start, just like Sam’s was a plan that could never, ever succeed. Death hurt just as much then as it did the first time, and Castiel’s Grace screamed even if no one heard. There was silence, and nothingness. And then he was back, _again_. He knelt on the grassy ground and felt life thrum inside him, around him. He could feel Dean’s soul, battered and in agony, but still rejoicing. He could feel Bobby, his soul still present even as his body was still and dead. But he could not feel Sam. Not Lucifer, not Michael. Adam was back in Heaven where he belonged, and the Winchester middle child was somewhere even Castiel could not find him.

Sam had done it. _They_ had done it. And Castiel could feel Heaven again. He could access his Grace, his wings, his powers, and he felt close to content. He resurrected Bobby and healed Dean, and when his Winchester asked if Castiel was God, Castiel had smiled. It felt good to smile, to be alive. Even with the loss of Sam.

He knew that Dean did not feel the same way. Dean Winchester had given up. Even though his brother had succeeded in his last mission, saving the world, and – at least in Castiel’s eyes – redeemed himself, Dean was finished. He cut himself off from Castiel, from himself, from the world and his own emotions, from everything. Castiel did not try to help – how could he? Both he and Dean knew all too well what Sam was going through in the Cage. Castiel’s very presence hurt Dean, he could feel it. Dean’s soul cried out in agony, not sure whether it wanted Castiel to stay close or stay away. In the end, Castiel left him to grieve, and Dean fulfilled his brother’s last wish.

Castiel did not speak to Dean in two months. But he saw him often, as often as he could. Saw how Dean tried to smile again, tried to live a normal life with Lisa and Benjamin Braeden, tried to forget the knowledge of Sam’s whereabouts. Tried to surrender to the fact that Sam was dead and gone.

Castiel searched for a way to get Sam out of the Cage, body and soul. In the end, he failed. And when he realized, he came to Dean and begged for his forgiveness.  


~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inconsistencies in Sam's time in Hell from the Show is done by purpose. :)

Sam’s body was retrieved after fifty-seven days in the Cage. That was almost twenty-five years in Hell-time. Castiel never told Dean about the physical state of Sam’s body when it first got out, and he never will. The damages that had been done to it told Castiel more about his fallen, sadistic brother than he ever wanted to know, and he grieved for Sam. But Castiel healed the body, to the best of his abilities, and Sam blinked his eyes open. He smiled at Castiel and thanked him, and when Castiel asked what he wanted to do now that he was back, Sam said he wanted to hunt.

Sam didn’t tell Dean he was back. That should have been Castiel’s first warning sign.

Samuel Campbell had been brought back from the dead, and Castiel did not know who had done so. Very few creatures had that kind of power – not even a seraphim could do something like that. Castiel could have, because his Father seemed to have ‘improved’ him when he was brought back from death the second time. Raphael, the last of the Archangels in Heaven, was another one. A handful of other creatures can resurrect; several smaller gods or Tricksters among them. But there was no taint to Samuel Campbell that Castiel could find, no clear purpose to his resurrection. Campbell did not seem to know when Castiel asked him, and even if Castiel could sense that he was lying, he was unable to see the truth. He did not tell Dean about it – Dean, who had not prayed to Castiel in almost three months.

Sam started hunting with the Campbell clan, and the feeling of unease Castiel had, worsened. He knew it was Sam Winchester, but the man did not _act_ like he was. There was no feeling behind anything he did – no joy, no remorse, none of the guilt that had defined the man for the whole time Castiel had known him.

When Castiel learned that Raphael planned to take over Heaven and start another Apocalypse, and that he – with the demon Crowley’s help – was the one who had pulled Samuel Campbell out of Heaven, he realized that he needed help. And as loath as he was to pull Dean out of his new life, he knew in his Grace that the Winchester would resent him forever if he did not tell him about Sam.

So he did. And Dean resented Castiel for not telling him sooner, like Castiel knew he would.

Dean left. He apologized to Lisa and Ben for stirring up their lives once again, and he told Lisa the story. Parts of the story, at least – and more of it than Castiel would think he would want to share. Lisa Braeden did not resent him for the choice he made, which surprised and humbled Castiel. She let Dean leave her life just as easily as she had let him in. Castiel could understand why Dean loved her.

Castiel was in Heaven, in the private heaven of an autistic man, reveling in the simple beauty and silence, when Dean prayed to him. It was the first time in over three months, and Castiel came immediately.

“There’s something wrong with Sam,” Dean said.

“I know,” Castiel replied.

In the two weeks between Dean leaving Lisa and Dean praying for help, the Winchester’s blood had been tainted. He’d been turned into a vampire, and according to Dean, his brother had let it happen. Even though the effects were reversed, Dean now knew he could not trust his brother. He knew his brother _wasn’t_ his brother. Castiel felt hurt – not necessarily because Dean had not asked for the help he would so gladly had given, but because Dean had been too ashamed to do so. It was curious, and saddening, to see that the Winchester still did not trust Castiel with his failures. Even if he trusted him with his life.

Castiel had a suspicion of what could be wrong. They tied Sam up and Castiel searched inside him, let his Grace force its way inside the man’s body in search of his soul. It wasn’t there.

Dean shut himself off. And to Castiel, it felt like he had once again taken Sam from him. He fled back to Heaven, away from the elder Winchester’s accusing stare, ashamed of his failure and the inability to determine it before now. He was lost in his own thoughts, so lost he did not sense Raphael’s presence until it was too late.

It was not so unlike the conditioning Zachariah had given him, before Castiel left the Host and started following his own thoughts and orders. Humans would perhaps have called it torture. Raphael called it an opportunity of enlightenment. Castiel called it blasphemy, and Raphael an abomination.

“Join me, Castiel, or face your own downfall,” Raphael had said, his Grace trying to smother Castiel’s own.

Castiel groaned, his wings pinned down by Haniel and Trechial, and felt Dean’s prayer as a whisper in the back of his mind. He could not help the Winchesters right now – he was not sure he could even help himself. “Far I have fallen, brother,” he gasped out, and Raphael pressed the tip of his sword deeper in between his ribs. “And yet I am more powerful than ever. If you kill me, what is to say God will not bring me back again?” A slow stream of blood trickled down his stomach, and Castiel felt his Grace flare in pain. He had no way of knowing his Father would grant Castiel the gift of life yet another time, but it was worth saying it. Raphael had always been somewhat of a coward, never engaging in the battle the way Michael or Lucifer would. He much preferred letting his henchmen do the dirty work for him.

Killing Castiel was not the purpose of this meeting. Castiel knew this. It was a warning, a show of force from Raphael’s side in order to villainize him and restore fear among his own troops.

“Join me, or die,” Raphael hissed. Then they were gone, and Castiel was alone in the small heaven. He was bleeding from his chest, badly. He flew down to Bobby Singer’s house and collapsed there, to the three humans’ surprise.

Castiel knew that the next time he met Raphael, one of them would die. And as it was now, Castiel was the weakest of them. He needed help. He needed an ally, a _friend_ , like Gabriel had been. But he had no one but the Winchesters left: Castiel had rebelled against Heaven. And when he refused to be Heaven’s new sheriff, as Dean had put it, the rest of his garrison had turned against him. Raphael was convincing in his efforts to label Castiel as a traitor and rebel, effectively alienating him from his brothers and sisters. Castiel didn’t know where to go, and with his chest wound, had no way of doing so anyway.

Luckily, Balthazar was the one who came to _him_.

~*~

“That looks like it hurts.”

“What the hell?” Dean leaps up from the couch he’s been sitting on. He’s been pressing a towel against Castiel’s chest, trying to stop the bleeding. Castiel has assured them all that he will heal, he merely needs some time, but Dean worries nonetheless. Sam does not much care, but Castiel does not take it personally. Sam cannot care much care about anything or anyone right now.

Castiel stares up at the vessel his brother wears; a brother he has not seen in one thousand nine-hundred years. “Balthazar?” Castiel croaks.

“Hello, Cassy,” Balthazar smiles, and then Dean is pointing the Colt at his head.

“Who are you?” he bites out.

“Why are you here?” Castiel asks.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Balthazar says.

Castiel feels a wave of something like annoyance wash over him. “You have been hiding for two thousand years. _Why are you here?_ ”

Balthazar grimaces. “Oh my. Here I come, expecting hugs and kisses, or even just a friendly ‘hello, brother, how have you been for the last centuries?’ ” He sighs. “Lovely to know one is appreciated.”

“As I’m currently trying not to get murdered by our brother Raphael, and thus jump-starting another Apocalypse, I really can’t spare the time for unnecessary pleasantries,” Castiel snarls and winces as the effort makes the wound throb painfully. He can feel his Grace struggle to heal it, close the wound before too much of his vessel’s blood can pour out.

Balthazar blinks, looking thoroughly baffled for a second. “Cassy,” he breathes, before his face splits into a grin. “You learned humor since I last saw you! I’m so proud!”

Castiel closes his eyes briefly and presses the towel against his wound. “That would be these humans’ fault.”

“Ah, yes, the Winchesters.” Balthazar scrunches his nose in distaste. “Heaven’s been buzzing with them for quite some time now. Heard you fended off the Apocalypse. Nice work.”

“No thanks to you,” Dean says.

Balthazar ‘tsk’s. “So angry.” His lips curl into a grin. “I was busy in my own little corner of the world.”

“Britain?” Dean quips.

The angel rolls his eyes. “ _In hiding_.”

“Like a coward.”

“Oh yes, naturally I should have joined your merry little band,” Balthazar snipes back. “Like my older brother. Tell me – how is Gabriel doing these days?”

“Bal,” Castiel says quietly. The loss of Gabriel is still one too near him, and he cannot bear to listen to Balthazar speak of him so crudely.

His brother’s tense posture relaxes instantly, and he turns to look at Castiel. His vessel is still young, slightly older than Castiel’s own, but his eyes are all Balthazar’s. They are as old as time, and filled with a shard of the same pain Castiel feels. “I felt it too, Cassy,” he murmurs.

Cas nods. “I know.” Gabriel was an archangel. They would all have felt it when his Grace exploded; every being connected to the Host.

“You’re another angel?” Sam asks. “Are you with us or against us?” It’s very plainly spoken, his mind thoroughly logic when his soul is absent.

Balthazar shrugs. “I’m not with anyone but myself, really,” he says. “Though I’m certainly not with Raphael, the pompous bastard.”

Sam shrugs. “Good enough.”

A flicker of amusement reaches Castiel, and his lips curl a little.

“Cas?” Dean says, and nothing more. He still has the Colt pointing at Balthazar’s head. He watches Castiel, gauging his reaction, like he’s asking Castiel whether to trust this unfamiliar angel or not.

It makes a strange feeling of warmth spread in Castiel’s chest. “I have no reason to believe Balthazar is here to harm me,” he says and looks at his brother. “Do I?”

“Nah,” Balthazar says. “You were always my favorite.” Something curls around Castiel’s tired, hurting Grace and soothes it, and it is so painfully familiar. Balthazar’s Grace feels like laughter and a mysterious wonder of sensations and smells. It has changed since he left, Castiel notices. Roughened by its long exile on Earth, but not weakened. Rather, it has strengthened, grown more pronounced, more _Balthazar_.

Castiel closes his eyes and relearns his brother, and prays to his Father that he will be able to have Balthazar longer than he had Gabriel.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

It seems petty to say in retrospect that Balthazar filled in for Gabriel’s brief position in what Dean called 'Team Free Will'. Sam probably thought so, and approved of it because it gave them a greater chance of survival. Dean did not like it. Balthazar did not like Dean.

In a peculiar manner, they fit. The four of them, working together to stop the New Apocalypse.

Dean went behind Castiel’s back – behind everyone’s back – in order to find a way to return Sam’s soul to his body. Castiel knew that it was practically an impossibility – getting Sam’s body out of the Cage had been difficult enough. It had nearly killed them both in the process, Sam hidden in that same hollow between Castiel’s wings as Dean had once been, as Castiel climbed his way out of the nine rings of Hell. He was not sure anyone could retrieve Sam’s soul now – not even Raphael, if he had so wished.

~*~

And then Dean tries to trap Death, the imbecile. Castiel is enraged when the Being of Time suddenly stands in Bobby’s study, looking bemusedly at his surroundings.

“Your human is a curious and _very_ stupid being,” Death says calmly to Castiel. He looks serene as always, but there is a slight undercurrent of annoyance that frightens Castiel.

“What did you _do_ , Dean?” Castiel hisses when the Winchester steps into the house, the shell of his brother walking in behind him.

“It worked?” Dean asks, blissfully unaware just how much trouble he has gotten himself into this time. He has, as Dean himself would have put it, ‘fucked up royally’.

“Do you realize,” Castiel hisses, sharp fear piercing its way through his anger and making it even more palpable in the room, “that the threat Raphael presents is nothing, _nothing_ against what you have just attempted to bind?” The lights flicker as his Grace screams in frustration, and both Winchesters seem to sense something from the way they shift uneasily.

“I’m not gonna _keep_ him bound,” Dean tries to excuse himself. “I just need him to put Sam’s soul back.”

“You didn’t tell me about this,” Sam says with a light frown.

“You’re not my brother,” Dean snarls.

Sam sighs, as if this is a tedious discussion he has had several times before. Castiel knows for a fact that it is.

“You _bound. Death._ ” Castiel’s voice roars with thunder. In the study, Death watches the exchange with something furiously like amusement.

Dean ignores him and walks over to the Being of Time instead. “I’m sorry about this,” he says. “I just – I didn’t know what other way to do this, and no one would help me.”

It hurts. Death glances at Castiel, and Castiel cannot keep Its gaze. He has tried, to the best of his abilities – to _Balthazar’s_ abilities, even – to retrieve Sam’s soul, all without luck. His wings are still charred from Hell's fire when he retrieved Sam's body, and it had hurt for months after to use them. If Castiel thought going back through the same nine rings would help rescue the younger Winchester's soul, he would do it. Just because he is unable to help, does not mean he does not _want_ to.

“It didn’t occur to you to simply ask me?” Death asks with a slight tilt of Its head. His curious look carries an undercurrent of danger with it, and Castiel sees Dean step back.

“Um… no.” Dean rubs a hand across his neck and looks embarrassed. Castiel feels a strange urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“How the hell did we survive for so long?” Sam asks, incredulous.

“You didn’t,” Castiel points out.

Sam nods at that, as if conceding Castiel's point.

“Can you get Sam’s soul back?” Dean asks Death, ignoring the two other people in the room.

“Back from where?” Death asks pleasantly.

“From the Cage, of course.”

“You want me to slip down into the Cage, where Lucifer and Michael are currently head-butting,” Death says and makes a walking gesture with his hand. It’s not unlike the simple gestures children sometimes use, and Castiel suspects It uses it to convey to Dean how utterly ridiculous his demand is. “And simply snap Sam’s soul out between them, for then to shove it back into your brother's body?”

“ _No_ ,” Castiel says just as Dean says “Yeah.” Dean turns to Castiel, suddenly furious with him. “What the hell do you mean, ‘no’, Cas?!”

“Dean, Sam’s soul have been trapped with Lucifer and Michael for almost four months,” Castiel says, voice thrumming with anger. “To him, that is close to forty _years_. If you push his soul back into his body without warning, you will kill him.”

“What? No, I won’t!” Dean says. He turns to Death, now looking anxious – finally. “Will I?”

“Possibly,” Death says pleasantly. “Though you could be lucky and merely render your brother a vegetable for the rest of his life.” He cocks his head. “Tell me, Dean. How would you like to have to feed your brother every day? To have him look at you and not know who you are?”

“Shut up!” Dean snarls, before he visibly calms. “Is there – is there _anything_ you can do? I promise, if – if you do this, if you fix Sam, we’ll never bother you again. Ever.”

“Puny little human,” Death says in a dangerous voice. “I am somewhat _less_ inclined to assist you now that you’ve tried to bind me against my will.” The golden string around his hand flickers, and Castiel suppresses the urge to take several steps back.

“ _Is it possible_?” Dean hisses.

“… it is,” Death replies after a pause.

“I promise I’ll let you go _right now_ if you just get Sam’s soul back into his body without killing or damaging him,” Dean says. “And I’ll never try anything again. Ever. I swear.”

“And what makes you think I won’t just kill you all when you free me?” Death asks, and he sounds almost curious.

Something painful churns inside Castiel at the thought of Dean exploding into a million pieces – like Castiel has done twice before.

Dean smiles. “Because I think you like us Winchesters, deep inside.”

“Oh yes,” Death says with what Castiel suspects is sarcasm. “I’m delighted by all the extra work you gave me after you derailed the Apocalypse.”

“But we’re just, what, puny little humans?” Dean smirks. “And yet we changed Biblical history. That’s pretty awesome.”

“Inspiring,” Death says in a thoroughly bored voice, but Castiel can see that It is interested. Its eyes twinkle.

“We could never have stopped the Apocalypse in the first place if you hadn’t given me the ring,” Dean points out. “You were rooting for us. Not just because of Lucifer’s leash on you – I think it’s because you like rooting for the little people. As much as you claim that this planet is nothing in the vastness of the Universe, you still hang around. Why, if it’s not to see how the angels freak out when there’s no script to follow?”

Death watches the Winchester in silence. Castiel fights an irrational urge to drum his fingers quickly against the side of his leg.

“How much,” Dean says and steps close, and there is a shine in his eyes that Castiel has not seen in a very, very long time, “would you like to visit the last creature that tried to bind you, and snag the only source of entertainment he’ll have for eternity – from right under his nose – just because you _can_?”

Death tilts his head just barely to the side. He blinks, once.

“I release you from your bounds,” Dean says and steps back, and the golden thread vanishes. “Just – think about it. Please?”

Death moves his hand once in a circular motion, as if to make sure that the bind is no more. He looks at all three of them, before his gaze finally lands on Dean. “Never attempt to bind or contact me again,” he says in a quiet voice that thrums with power. Even Castiel’s grace shivers in discomfort as the Old force sweeps across the room. “Ever.”

“Got it, boss,” Dean nods, his voice breathless.

Then It is gone.

Castiel glares at Dean. Sam looks annoyed as well. “What?” Dean says and shrugs. “None of us died. Hell, by Winchester standards, this is as good as it gets.”

Castiel flies off to find Balthazar; if not he might actually hit the idiotic human.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for non-graphic Hell-imagery and mentions of torture. Also sort of character deaths in that usual Winchester way.

Two days later, Dean is killed. At the time Castiel is in a small cabin in Macapá, Brazil, speaking to Balthazar – the villa is one of his many hide-outs around the globe. He feels Dean’s life, a small humming thread forever connected to him, flicker and vanish without preamble. Numb with fear, he flies to Bobby’s house, and finds Dean lying on the kitchen floor, as if he has merely fallen down. He is deathly pale, but not yet cold, and not visibly harmed in any way. Castiel crouches to try and resurrect him again – it has to work; it had worked with Bobby before, even though Castiel cannot feel Dean's soul hanging on – when Sam steps out of the shadows.

“You can leave him,” the soulless Winchester says, as calm and emotionally cold as always. “It’s fine.”

“It is not _fine_ ,” Castiel hisses, feeling a slightly familiar and highly uncomfortable wave of grief tear through him. “Your brother is dead.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, giving Castiel a look that might say _do you think me stupid?_. “Death did it.”

“Death?”

“He said something about payment,” Sam says with a shrug.

Castiel quickly summons a reaper, his vessel’s skin feeling itchy and too small for his form. _So this is impatience,_ Castiel thinks, and Tessa shows up in the ring.

“Castiel,” she says pleasantly. “It's been some time.”

“Why did Death take Dean Winchester before his time?” Castiel asks, sharper than he had intended.

“According to the Plan, he is much, much after his time, Castiel,” Tessa says with a slight smile. “Dean Winchester has an arrangement with my boss, about Samuel Winchester’s soul.”

Castiel frowns. “What is this arrangement?”

“Dean Winchester is to take a reaper’s job for twenty-four hours,” Tessa says. “If he can perform his duties, Death will return Samuel’s soul to his body – and bring Dean back to life.”

“And if he does not succeed?” Castiel asks.

Tessa’s smile widens slightly. “Dean survives irregardless, Castiel. This is not revenge.”

Castiel nods, pleased with her answers.

“If I may?” Tessa asks, glancing at the circle around her. It will not hold her against her will, but as he summoned her, it is considered bad manners to leave before he has given her permission.

“You may leave. Thank you.”

“Thank _you._ ” She disappears as suddenly as she arrived, and Castiel stands in the kitchen, staring at Dean’s body, trying not to feel anxious. He waits for Dean to come back to life, and attempts not to dwell on his deathly features – it is too painful, temporary as it may be. The hours trickle by and Sam leaves them alone.

Then Dean utters a sudden gasp and jolts awake, and the string attached to Castiel’s Grace is back, natural as if it never vanished in the first place. Castiel lets out a slow exhale, even though he has no need to breathe. “Dean. Are you alright?”

Dean looks at him strangely, as if for one second he does not recognize Castiel – and then he slumps and sighs. He nods. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine, Cas.” He does not sound fine. In fact, he sounds deeply distressed. Castiel tells him as much, but Dean shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just the job Death–”

And the Being of Time is in the room with them, greeting Castiel with a slight incline of Its head.

“The arrangement?” Castiel asks, his wings bristling with something akin to nervousness.

“The human has upheld is part,” Death says, amused. “I keep my promise.”

“Sam!” Dean calls out, his voice still shaking, and the shell of his brother walks into the kitchen. “You’re getting your soul back.”

“I thought it was too dangerous?” Sam says, and looks vaguely troubled. As if he wants to feel more adamant about his refusal, but cannot. For the first time, it strikes Castiel that his soullessness might be a handicap for Sam as well as something that changes the core of his being.

“No, it’s not.” Dean does not offer any other explanation, merely pushes Sam down until he lies flat on the floor.

“Dean, I don’t–”

“Shut up and lie still.” Dean’s face is pinched, as if he in pain, but his grip on his brother’s shoulders is a strong one. Sam obeys, though he looks displeased by the situation, and Death kneels by the brothers’ side. It has a satchel with It, one It now opens with delicate certainty.

“I would advise you to close your eyes, lest you are an immortal being,” Death says and curls Its hand around something in the satchel. Castiel can feel it already – a lost soul, forcibly kept apart from its rightful body, struggling to return. It calls out, and Castiel recognizes the tendrils of guilt and kindness that are so very _Sam_. Almost despite himself, Castiel lets his Grace connect barely with the tortured soul, hoping to soothe it – but the agony and residual fear he is met with jars the very core of Castiel, and he has to pull away, shaken. The extent of torture Sam has endured in the Cage is more than Castiel can stand, and once again, a deep agonizing wave of _failure_ washes over him. _I am so sorry, Sam_ , he tries to convey to the poor, wounded soul. _I tried to retrieve you, but I failed. I am sorry I left you with my brother._

Dean and Sam close their eyes, and Death pulls Sam’s soul out of his satchel. Castiel resists the urge to cry out in surprise.

Sam’s soul looks… different. Castiel cannot find the words to describe it, not even in Enochian. There are bright _red_ tendrils stretched around the beautiful, blue light infused with muddled brown that is the Sam he knows, seemingly suffocating the gentle soul. Castiel looks up at Death, who nods once. It is no longer a question what brings this soul so much residual pain even after it has been rescued from Lucifer's grasp.

The knowledge saddens Castiel. Even out of the Cage, Lucifer now owns a part of Sam Winchester – as clear as Castiel owns a part of his brother. Lucifer has branded Sam in the Cage, and the process must have been an excruciating one for his soul to take such permanent damage from it. Castiel knows that he cannot erase it – doubts even Death could, if he had wanted – because as fallen as Lucifer is, he still has the powers of an Archangel. And evil of this magnitude and intent cannot be fully erased. Castiel dreads the thought of what might happen to Sam once he wakes up, his soul intact. _If_ he wakes up.

Death has guided the damaged soul back into its rightful body, and Sam’s screaming has stopped. The younger Winchester is now unconscious, the soul stretching out and filling every nook inside its body. Dean opens his eyes.

“Did it work?” he asks, anxious.

“That depends,” Death says easily, closing his satchel.

“On what?”

“On what you mean.” Death’s Voice takes on an old, bitter-tasting tang. “I have placed your brother’s soul back into his body. However, I cannot predict what will now happen to him.”

“What? You promised –”

“– Not to harm or kill him myself,” Death says with an edge of irritation. “However, I made it quite clear what dangers were in involved in this procedure.” He pauses for a moment. “I have created a wall in your brother's mind that keeps the memories from overwhelming him and swallowing his mind completely. It should keep him sane, but I can't guarantee it will last.” It rises smoothly to Its feet. “Only Time will show.”

Dean swallows, but seems to understand that whatever may happen now, it is not Death's responsibility. “Okay. Um, thanks a lot. For, y'know. Everything.”

“Touching,” Death says drily. “Never call for me again, Winchester. I will see you in...” he smiles. “Well. I'm not supposed to tell, am I?”

Then they are alone; Castiel and Dean, with Sam's still-unconscious body lying on the kitchen floor where Dean had lain mere hours before. “Cas, gimme a hand, will you?” Dean says and grasps his brother by the shoulders. Together, they lift him and Castiel transports them down to Bobby's panic room so they can place Sam's body on the cot down there. Castiel remembers the last time Sam had to stay in this place, when he screamed himself hoarse for hours on end, detoxifying from the demon blood in his system. He sincerely wishes Sam to be well when he wakes up; he has been through enough. He listens to the younger Winchester's calm, steady, sleeping breath and hopes beyond hope that he will 'be okay'.

It takes mere days for Castiel's – and Dean's – hopes to shatter.

Sam seems well enough when he first wakes; bleary-eyed, confused, and with a memory loss than spans from Detroit until his soul's retrieval from the Cage. He immediately begins to question his brother, who evades all questions and only responds “you don't wanna know, Sammy – just leave it alone.” They should both have known that Sam would never let it lie. Sam is too curious, too thirsty for knowledge to let months of his own life remain blank slates in his mind. Sam does not mention his trying to remember, and they are all too busy trying to find out Raphael's end game to pay enough attention to the younger Winchester.

Not until Sam wakes up screaming one night and cannot stop.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of Sam's torture in Hell, and hurt/comforty things after.

Castiel is furious at himself. How could he not have noticed that Sam's wall had developed cracks before it burst completely? If he had, he might have been able to prevent this from happening. If he had paid closer attention to one of his fellow soldiers – one of his best and few friends – Sam would not have been reduced to but a fraction of himself.

The younger Winchester howls now, in his fourth day and seventh hour. Dean is down in the panic room with him, as he has been since Sam collapsed, alternating between keeping his distance and holding his brother tight. Castiel is also in the room, but invisible, as his presence alone disturbs Sam these days. Sam seems to react to Castiel's Grace, though he by no means should be able to, and only invisible to the human eye can Castiel restrain his Grace enough that the tormented Winchester cannot feel him.

Sam's behavior changes radically and without set intervals; one minute he will crave Dean's physical touch as a grounding force, then suddenly the closeness will prove too much and Sam will push Dean away, ill and nauseous. Sometimes he is lucid; asks Dean where he is, why Lucifer is gone; _apologizes_ , of all things, for his apparently appalling behavior. Dean always tells him to “stop talking bullshit” when Sam tries to apologize for his sickness, and Castiel can barely restrain himself from taking corporeal, visible form so he can apologize directly to Sam.

Other times, he is catatonic – stares at the wall where Cas hides, but lost somewhere in his mind amongst the hordes of terrible memories. Or he will scream; like he does now, curled up on his cot or kicking and hitting at thin-air, pleading for Castiel's brother to leave him alone, to stop hurting him, to stop, please stop.

Dean never leaves. He stays where his brother needs him to be, eyes shiny with tears he will not let himself shed, every muscle in his body tensing like a coiled spring each time Sam will shout Lucifer's name in a hoarse, broken voice. Dean tries to keep Sam calm for as long as possible; only when the Winchester's fear and illusions turn him violent will Dean strap his brother to the metal cot in order to keep him safe. Sam's screams turn even more frightened when Dean does that, as if the leather straps themselves remind him of the Cage, and his efforts to get away will turn bestial. Once, but only once, did he bite Dean: sank his teeth into the older hunter's arm until he drew blood and Dean cried out in pain and surprise. Dean had not said a word, not even a curse – he simply finished locking Sam fast before briefly leaving the room to fashion a simple bandage around his arm. Later, when Sam had succumbed to his own exhaustion, Dean had whispered “it's okay, Sam, I know you didn't mean nothing with it” to the silence.

When Sam had woken up later that night, once again finding himself in a more lucid period, he had asked his brother what had happened to his arm. “Walked into a door,” Dean had replied and smiled without humor. “Y'know me, Sammy. Biggest fucking klutz.”

And Sam knew, as well as Castiel did, that Dean was lying – but he did not inquire further.

“Ssshhh, hush, Sammy,” Dean whispers to his brother now, feigning calm and a soothing tone of voice as he holds the bigger, quivering man close to his chest. “They ain't nothing but memories no more, Sam.” His drawl, usually faint, is more pronounced now due to his exhaustion. Dean has not slept more than a handful of hours every day since Sam's wall broke, and it is showing in the hunter's hunched shoulders and the deep bags beneath his eyes.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam gasps as he quakes, wracked by the force of his own sobs. He grips Dean's arms hard enough to bruise, though Dean never says a word about it, and tries to hide his face in his older brother's t-shirt.

“Right here,” Dean murmurs, and curls over Sam's huddled form like a wolf mother protecting her cub. “I'm right here, baby bro.”

Sam merely cries; has no words left in him for now. Castiel aches to walk up to them, to try and relieve them both of a shard of their pain, to _help_ – but he has to stay where he is. As much as this – this _doing nothing_ hurts, it is even more painful to see Sam's eyes go wide and frightened when he senses the angel in the room. Castiel will not bring further harm to these two exceptional humans.

It is the very least he owes them.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

It takes Sam days to become lucid enough to leave the panic room; weeks for him to learn how to control the flashes of memories that constantly burst forth in his brain. It takes him fifteen days to learn how to cope with Castiel's presence, to remember that Castiel is not here to harm him in any way; to trust Dean when he tells Sam that nothing is wrong, that he is safe here.

It takes weeks for them to be able to continue hunting down Raphael's henchmen together, and in this period, Balthazar and Castiel mostly hunt alone and leave Dean with his broken brother. Castiel tries to talk to Dean once, because he can feel how Dean's guilt wracks at his insides, but the older Winchester cuts him off immediately. “It ain't nothing to be done about it now, Cas. Sam's getting better, let's just leave it at that.” He refuses to let Castiel bear some of the burden he carries, and it pains Castiel to be so powerful and yet so helpless.

He _despises_ feeling helpless.

It takes months before Sam reaches a semblance of his usual self, and stops having seizures or animalistic periods where he does not recognize either of them – not even his brother. For a long while, both Castiel and Dean wonder if Sam will ever become what he once was – and in manner, he does not. How can he? He is a changed man, just as Dean changed permanently after his years in Hell. But once again, Castiel is struck by the determination in this Winchester – Sam's soul is still smothered by Lucifer's red tendrils, but he works, for hours and days and weeks, until he becomes better. Until he can fight with Castiel and Dean again; until he relearns how to smile and laugh and enjoy the sun shining through the windows of Dean's Impala; these small things that the Winchesters have always appreciated. The reminders that no matter what they have gone through, they are still human, they are still _humans_.

Castiel does not think he could have done the same. He has experienced humanity once, and it was nothing like the difficulties Sam has experienced – but it was excruciating for Castiel nonetheless. It shames him, but he had wanted to die – in the final moment, when Lucifer had snapped his fingers and ripped him apart, a part of Castiel had been grateful. He would rather be dead than be reduced to such a small fraction of himself.

This is not how Sam Winchester works. He struggles, carries on, until he can grasp himself again, and to Castiel, that is extraordinary. It fills him with a deep respect for the human – even deeper than the respect he already has.

He tells Sam once; not in so many words, but nonetheless. Sam looks puzzled, as if the thought of giving up hope has not occurred to him – something that does not surprise Castiel at all. “Heh, well – I mean, thanks, I guess, but... y'know. I had to. I had to come back; we've got a world to save, and Dean...” and there he had trailed off, but Castiel nodded in understanding.

 _Dean needs me._ He does – they need each other. Any other creature on this earth, Dean can live without; Castiel too, no doubt. Castiel is sure the hunter would mourn him, but it would only be for a short period of time. Only the loss of Sam is something the hunter could buckle under. The Winchester family has a long history of dealing with grave losses and sacrifices.

~*~

It is on one of the missions Castiel handles alone that he manages to corner Crowley. Or maybe Crowley corners him – Castiel has never quite found out. After some… persuasion, Castiel convinces Crowley to speak.

“Raphael is collecting souls,” the demon says, straightening his jacket with a slight wince.

Castiel has stepped back from the demon, his superior powers making sure Crowley cannot leave until he receives Castiel’s permission. “Why?”

“To get more juice, naturally,” Crowley says. “Come on, Cassy. I thought you were the smart one.” The words roll off of his deceitful tongue easily, and he keeps Castiel’s gaze. “You stopped one door from opening – that doesn’t mean there aren’t others my little archangel will attempt to open.”

Cas frowns, and then he gets it. “You are talking about Purgatory.”

“Score ten for the pretty angel in the shabby coat,” Crowley says drily.

“Raphael wants to open the door to Purgatory. Is that how he plans to end the world?” Castiel muses. This is more valuable information than they have been able to acquire in the last eight months – with or without Balthazar’s help. Not even the other angels know about this.

“Apparently,” Crowley replies with a shrug. There is a strange twinkle in his eyes.

Castiel frowns. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because, _Cassy_ , I don’t trust angels.” Crowley steps closer, until their noses almost bump and Castiel gazes into the pitch black center of the demon’s eyes and soul. “Especially not archangels.”

“You want an 'out',” Castiel says with an air of distaste, choosing one of Dean's phrasings.

“Merely a small deal,” Crowley purrs.

“No.” Castiel steps back, not out of discomfort, but because he wants to make this absolutely clear. He is not one to deal with a demon – especially not the King of Hell.

“Oh, remove the stick up your perky arse, Cas,” Crowley says with an eye-roll. “I just want a slim chance of survival – a bigger one than I have with Raphael. I want you to promise me that you will not kill me, or keep me from fleeing when the time comes for me to skedaddle.”

Castiel frowns. Crowley has not stated that anyone _else_ can harm him. So if he were to bring Balthazar along… “And in return?”

“In return,” Crowley says and smirks, “I give you the where and the when. And you and Raphi-doll can have the dick-size competition you’ve both been longing for.”

“You repel me,” Castiel says with distaste as the demon creeps close to him again.

“Mmm, I bet I do,” Crowley says in a silky voice and fixes his black eyes on Jimmy’s lips. “Do we have an accord?”

After a moment of hesitation, Castiel nods. He will never admit so out loud, but they are both aware that at this point, Castiel is desperate for information. “I, Castiel, will not harm you in any way, nor deprive you of your powers.”

“I, Crowley, will not harm you in any way, nor deprive you of your powers,” Crowley responds, and the twinkle in his eyes tells Castiel that Crowley is thinking the exact same thing as him. If they cannot harm each other, they can send their friends instead. It is hardly a fair deal, but he is a demon. Castiel has never expected him to be fair.

Crowley’s lips are cold as ice, and the electrical tinge that comes with them is slightly uncomfortable. Castiel does not move, does not reciprocate, but he allows it to happen. “I’ll be in touch, gorgeous,” Crowley whispers into his ear, and then he is alone in the room.

Castiel sighs, hoping the human expression of frustration and fatigue will make him feel better. It does not. In the end, he flies to tell Balthazar about his plan. He is not sure how much he can reveal to Dean and Sam – not yet.

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel meets Crowley a few times through these two months. Crowley does not share information willingly, and the little he shares is hardly useful; but Castiel knows the time is growing short. Whenever Raphael will attempt to open Purgatory, it will be soon. And the time has finally come for Castiel to tell the Winchesters; especially since Sam has recovered steadily over these last weeks.

Dean, of course, is furious that Castiel has not told them immediately. Sam seems more understanding, and Balthazar, not surprisingly, takes Castiel's side rather than Dean's.

“Yes, because you are so _very_ good at keeping a level head, aren't you, Deano?” Balthazar sneers.

“Screw you,” Dean responds. “We're a goddamn team! Does nobody else get that?”

“Oh, like you don't keep any secrets from us?” Balthazar says with a derisive snort.

“Not secrets like this!” Dean snaps. “I haven't had the key to this whole fucking Apocalypse for two months and kept quiet about it!”

“You were preoccupied,” Castiel says calmly, and does not add _with Sam_ because he knows the younger Winchester will feel guilty if he does. It is not Sam's fault; none of this is. “I decided to wait until we were all ready – I knew we had time.”

“Fuck you, Cas,” Dean spits.

The argument continues for some time like this; Dean spouting obscenities to make sure everyone realizes how little he appreciates being kept in the dark. Sam, for the most part, stays quiet, and Balthazar seems to enjoy upsetting the angry hunter further.

Finally, Dean seems to have gotten most of his anger out of his system, like Castiel was waiting for. “Fine,” he says. “When's this thing gonna go down?”

“There is a lunar eclipse in ten days,” Castiel replies, sharing the information he has received from Crowley. “That is the only time Raphael can open the door to Purgatory. He will only have a short time to be able to do so; once the window has closed, it will be years before he can attempt it again.”

“Great,” Dean says. “So all we have to do is keep the feathery douchebag from opening the door at exactly that time, and all's dandy?”

“More or less,” Castiel nods. Of course, it is never that easy. He opens his mouth to say that Crowley will also be there – that Castiel has vowed not to harm the demon, but that either of the others are free to do so. But he cannot. He can open his mouth, but he cannot utter the words. They freeze on his tongue, as if some kind of invisible film covers his mouth and keeps the words from coming forth.

Castiel frowns. It must be because of the deal – some kind of sub-clause Crowley no doubt knew of when he initiated the binding kiss. Castiel had not anticipated that.

“Cas?” Dean asks, watching him try to speak. “You okay there?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, and it is almost a sigh. “It is not of importance. I must go.” And he leaves them, flies with Balthazar to another part of Earth. There is still so much to do.

~*~

A day before the eclipse, Castiel and Balthazar find themselves in Iceland; sitting together down in Þórsmörk Valley, side by side. Eyjafjallajökull is a vast, sooted ridge against the sundown; the old volcano's power emanating so strongly through the air, both their Graces are replenished by it. This is Mother Nature; raw, strong, dangerous, infinitely beautiful and giving. Castiel spreads his wings and sighs with content. “I have not been here in many centuries.”

Balthazar makes a soft, agreeable sound next to him. His own wings, large and warm, reminiscent of the orange-red magma that dwells not far below the two of them, flutter. “I come here every now and then,” he says. “Icelandic is an amusing language.”

Castiel feels himself smile. He appreciates Balthazar's light-hearted nature. He knows they are both thinking of tomorrow – of their relatively small chances of a full success. Yet Balthazar, unlike Dean, is not one to drink himself into a stupor the night before a battle, and he will not 'party the hours away' like Gabriel so often would. Instead Balthazar prefers, like Castiel, to sit just quiet and feel the earth, water and sky around them. Not many angels knows this, as Balthazar has taken much of his joking nature from their Archangel brother, but Castiel is one of the few angels who have seen and felt how soft Balthazar can be.

Now, the older angel brushes the tip of his wings against Castiel's own, darker and smaller ones. “This will be a walk in the park, Cassy,” Balthazar murmurs, the reassurance a blatant lie, but Castiel appreciates his brother's effort.

Castiel does not need to answer; only seeks Balthazar out with his grace. They entangle, not like lovers but like _family_ , safe and warm. Content to share their love with each other, and remember what has been lost before now. Their human vessels tangle their fingers and close their eyes, and they sit, the Norse nature humming around them, and wait for sunrise.

~*~


End file.
